One Night Of Tears
by SunBurntIcarus
Summary: A elaborated explanation of what happened on the infamous 'Night of Tears.' and the events following Saarthal's destruction. What caused the elves to attack? What was the reclaiming battle like? Who was Ysgramor? What did the elves want from the Eye of Magnus? Read to find out!


**Hello everyone, SunBurntIcarus here. This is my first (serious) fanfiction, following a rather unsuccessful and dissapointing one. Here I plan to elaborate on a story hidden behind the veils of time, one well heard of in Skyrim. If you haven't guessed from the title, I will be doing a short fanfic about the night of tears. I decided to stray from the usual fanfics about the dragonborn, as I feel I couldn't do him/her justice, considering the sheer number of possibilities. I hope, dear readers, that you enjoy my twist on this story. Please read and write a review, I would really appreciate it!  
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**One Night Of Tears**

**A personal twist on a historic tale**

From here, it wasn't very hard to see that something had happened. Even from a distance, you could see the smoke billowing into the sky, hear the shrill screams coming from the source of the smoke, experience the smell of blood and burnt flesh. The forests surrounding Saarthal were silent, the animals straying their noises. As if they were honouring the sheer number of deaths that this day had dealt.

From where he stood, Ysgramor could see Saarthal. He could see the cursed elves burning his own people, using their damn 'Magick' to torture them. Many of the elves, were running after citizens, toying with them as wolves do with their prey. They were killing his people, treating them as if they were nothing but toys. Ysgramor could see that the majority of the elven forces quartered around the new quarter of Saarthal. There was a small group of people left, comprised of his best warriors, doing their best to hold off the storm of elves. All around them the ground was littered with the corpses of men and mer alike, however with the bodies of men outnumbering that of mer. The elves easily outnumbered his people, and they were looking the worse for angered Ysgramor to see women and children littering the ground. They were all slaughtered as if they were animals, no mattering their gender or age. For the elves, all men were the same. From their point of view, the only thing that man would ever amount to was mindless slaves, fit only to serve elves. A snapping of a twig, and a voice behind him sounded the arrival of his first-born son.

"By the Gods. What...?Why?" Yngol said, his voice on the verge of cracking. "Why have they done this?" Ysgramor turned around and eyed his oldest son. He answered, his voice filled with emotion. He could tell that Yngol was very upset at what had happened. He looked on the verge of tears. Normally, Ysgramor would scold him for this, but this wasn't the time. Besides, every warrior needs to have times of emotion. Without emotion, there would be no compassion, no honour.

"You know why. It's all because of that damned... that damned thing." Ysgramor shook his head when he thought of that thing. He knew it was dangerous from the very first time he had seen it. A couple of years ago, when they had first settled this new land, they had built this town here. It had been a good choice of location, due to a closeness to the ocean, a nearby forest, and fertile soil. The nearby mountains kept Saarthal safe from the majority of the elements, and the mountains formed an imaginary womb, in which his people felt safe. At that time, the only thing they had to worry about was the occasional disease, or wolf attack. They hadn't lived here long enough to develop an immunity to the diseases yet, but it was only a matter of time. Luckily enough, they had only lost one or two souls to the sickness. It was only a couple of months ago, after some prospecting miners came upon a tomb, with the sphere located in, that Ysgramor questioned his past decisions.. He should have destroyed it then and there. Or, rather, moved his people to a different area. But no, he had to keep his city there, and hide this discovery from the 'Snow Elves,' their native neighbors. He had to keep this object hidden. A giant blue sphere, floating of its own accord. You could practically feel the very aura of power emnating from it. Even then, he knew that it was meant to be hidden, or destroyed. And that's why he didn't move his town. He knew that if the elves found this object, and used it, it could be disastrous. As anything magical always is. 'Why didn't I destroy it?' Ysgramor asked himself. His son Yngol answered his previous answer.

"The elves wanted to use it? It didn't matter that we were in the way?"

"Exactly." Ysgramor looked to Yngol. 'Smart boy,' he thought. Yngol had always been the smart one, having inherited it from his late mother. Although he was the youngest, he didn't let that stop him from his constant search for knowledge, and his competition with Ylgar.

A sound of rushed sprinting, and snow crunching caused Ysgramor to raise his eyebrow. Thinking nothing of it, he extended his right foot out. His other son, Ylgar, ran straight into his father's extended foot and fell face forward into the snow. Not letting that stop him, he spun around, and extended himself as he prepared to stand back up. He was stopped however, this time by the very foot of which he fell. His father loomed over him, with a face of stoic sadness. Looking at his father, he struggled to get back up.

"Father! Let me up!" he spat at his father. Trying again to break free of his father's boot, he only managed to get a much harder force put upon him.

"Now is not the time Ylgar. You'll have your time of revenge. Soon"

"But father, the elves are right there! If we go now, we could easily surprise the lot of them, give support to those men! We cannot run, we are Nords! We run_ towards_the fight!" spluttered Ylgar.

"And do what, condemn ourselves to the same fate? Although I disapprove of cowardice, there's a difference between cowardice and suicide." He told his son. "There's no shame in not entering a fight, if there isn't a chance of survival. Were we to rush towards the city now, we would be shot down with their magick before we reached the city. Or worse, they would hold us captive, and torture us for our knowledge of that thing. If we wish to live, we must not do anything to alert the elves." He took his boot off his son, and offered his son his hand. "Besides, our time of vengeance will enough."

"Yes father..."

"Come, it's time we take our leave. We must return to Atmora."

It was a short walk through the dense forest towards the shore. Here, he could see his personal ship, 'Warmaiden' moored away from shore. Luckily enough, there seemed to be a spare canoe left. He stepped into the canoe, and let his sons push the canoe away from Mereth. He knew that it would be a long journey on the Warmaiden, and thankfully enough, it was equipped with enough salted and preserved food to feed a group of 30 for a month. The canoe reached the ship soon enough. Letting his sons hold the boat steady, Ysgramor gripped the wooden ladder and began his ascent onto his ship. Reaching the top, it still looked the same as it had years ago, when he had finally left the damned vessel. A little weather-worn perhaps, but still in order. After instructing his sons to lift the anchor, he headed towards the very top of the ship, next to the steering mast. "My sons, today we leave our home, towards our home of old. This is not a goodbye, but merely a temporary leave. Come next spring, we will be back, and we will have our vengeance. Lift the sails, let's go!"

With the sails lifted, and a nice, stern breeze to guide them out of the bay, they headed out towards the sheer blue ocean. Turning Warmaiden towards the direction he knew would lead him to Atmora, he signaled Yngol to come up here. "Yngol, keep us on this course, I'll be back shortly enough."

"Yes father."

Retreating to the captain's cabin, he looked in his closet. There, nestled among the furs and clothes he had brought with, was Wuuthrad, right where he knew it would be. His axe still looked the same as it had a year ago. He had neglected bringing it with him ashore as he had believed he wouldn't need it. Leaving the cabin and returning to the top of the ship he looked once more back at Mereth, stealing the last glance he'll see in a while. He could see the smoke in the air still, although this time it wasn't nearly as black. Seemed like they finally ran out of fuel. He simply thought to himself, ' I'll be back, and this time the elves will learn the true fury of the Nords.'

Author's Note:

Finally! I finally wrote an actual beginning that I'm proud of. I hate beginnings. It's hard to introduce a story sometimes. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter in my small fanfiction series I plan on writing. I'm not the best of writers, and this chapter was a little short, but I feel that the next chapter will be a bit bigger. If I have time to write it that is! If there are any mistakes, whether grammar-wise or lore-related, don't bother to tell! I love to read criticism, constructive and not-so-constructive. Thanks for reading!


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